es will be easier to understand, for each of you can know just
what is meant in every case by appealing to your own mind. I beg of you
not to think that I am presenting something new and strange, a curiosity
connected with our thinking which has been discovered by scholars who
have delved more deeply into the matter than we can hope to do. Every
day--no, more than that, every hour and every moment--these images are
flitting through our minds, forming a large part of our stream of
consciousness. Let us see whether we can turn our attention within and
discover some of our images in their flight. Let us introspect.

I know of no better way to proceed than that adopted by Francis Galton
years ago, when he asked the English men of letters and science to think
of their breakfast tables, and then describe the images which appeared.
I am about to ask each one of you to do the same thing, but I want to
warn you beforehand that the images will not be so vivid as the sensory
experiences themselves. They will be much fainter and more vague, and
less clear and definite; they will be fleeting, and must be caught on
the wing. Often the image may fade entirely out, and the idea only be
left.

THE VARIED IMAGERY SUGGESTED BY ONE'S DINING TABLE.--Let each one now
recall the dining table as you last left it, and then answer questions
concerning it like the following:

Can I see clearly in my "mind's eye" the whole table as it stood spread
before me? Can I see all parts of it equally clearly? Do I get the snowy
white and gloss of the linen? The delicate coloring of the china, so
that I can see where the pink shades off into the white? The graceful
lines and curves of the dishes? The sheen of the silver? The brown of
the toast? The yellow of the cream? The rich red and dark green of the
bouquet of roses? The sparkle of the glassware?

Can I again hear the rattle of the dishes? The clink of the spoon
against the cup? The moving up of the chairs? The chatter of the voices,
each with its own peculiar pitch and quality? The twitter of a bird
outside the window? The tinkle of a distant bell? The chirp of a
neighborly cricket?

Can I taste clearly the milk? The coffee? The eggs? The bacon? The
rolls? The butter? The jelly? The fruit? Can I get the appetizing odor
of the coffee? Of the meat? The oranges and bananas? The perfume of the
lilac bush outside the door? The perfume from a handkerchief newly
treated to a spray of heliotrope?

Can I